


Torment

by CondemnedFlame



Category: One Piece
Genre: 20+ chapters planned, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Heavy Discrimination, M/M, Or 50 whoops, Possibly implied Marco/Thatch if you squint hard enough, Possibly up to as many as 40, Since that seems the closest to capturing what this is, Slavery, Slow Burn, So many characters honestly, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CondemnedFlame/pseuds/CondemnedFlame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you're not Blue, you're Scum. If you're not Scum, you're dead. Those with gifts are the enemy of the state and will be disposed of accordingly. To survive is to hide one's very essence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

There is always an order to things. Survival depends upon a hierarchy of living things. The strong survive and prey upon the weak. Remove a key species from an environment or tamper with the prime predator and the ecosystem falls to pieces around them all. Without a leader there is nothing. There is no order, no nature, and certainly no chance for survival.

_Survival of the fittest._

Why are humans not the same?

In nature it is the gifted that rise above the others, creatures born with innate gifts that set them apart from the others. Human kind does not work in this fashion. To be different is to be alienated, cast out or killed. In this day and age, it is the wealthy that lead. Blue Bloods, the elite of their kind - they are the only ones allowed that pedestal of pride.

And as with all humanity, there are classes set upon birth. The Blue who are born into the high class, the Mid who crawl their way up in social standings through sheer will or determination, and the Scum who are born into poverty or fall from a higher class to low.

**_If you're not Blue then you're Scum. If you're not Scum then you're dead._ **

Such is the law that governs their being, for it is those lower than low that are feared and hunted like little more than a fox by hounds. Unlike their animistic kin, humanity fears difference and ' _gifts._ ' Those gifted are those _Scorned_. And those scorned are those sentenced to death - or worse.

It's seen as a plague among the Blue and even those lower. Standing has nothing to do with it, though the Blue Blood's would argue that the _plague_ began with Scum, a sickness infesting all nearby. It strikes in any family, the Scorned revealing their talents at different times throughout life. Each infant born (whether blue or low) is feared. To breed is to risk everything. Impossible to resist such an innate urge though, and so their numbers grow.

Most gifts are small, barely noticed until a later age. Some rear into life within moments of life. It is the logia's and zoan's that are feared upon all else. Easy to control a youth with a metalworking gift or light creation. Harder to control those that changed their very forms into another. Those were the ones hunted. Those are the ones doomed.

A special league of forces was brought to being shortly after the plague began. **The HDS** , more commonly known as the Hoods, soldiers - their sole purpose to protect the peace. That was the story spread from authorities. The Hoods were seen as a force of good by most, the general public unaware of the darkness that lurked beneath each move and mission. For a Hood was brought into the order with one mission and one mission alone: the annihilation or capture of each and every Scorned. Their forces spread in number, multiplying like a flicker of flame dropped upon a field of grass. They spread and they _devoured_ all in their path.

When once there was peace, now there was fear.

Long before the Hoods, those with gifts fled the scenes. It mattered little what family you originated from. No one would risk sheltering such a threat within home or mind. Children were tossed into the streets, youth's abandoned at the slightest sign. That was where the Rebellion stepped in, a band of ruffians that rapidly grew in response to the HDS forces. They banded together, slinking into the shadows of Low Town and the crevices in High Town, from the farthest shore to the very heart of Central, anywhere and everywhere. Small in number at first, they became the lasting hope for those with no one to turn to, but even they could not save _everyone._

Death or slavery. Those were the only options available for those unfortunate enough to be captured by the hoods. Rebel and you were shot, specialized bullets designed to cripple even the most ferocious of Scorned. Though, it was only The Blue and Hoods to call them by that name.

To all else they were known as only the **_Gifted._ **

Those that survived an onslaught were doomed to far worse a fate. It did not take long for a weakness to be discovered among those 'blessed' with power. A specialized stone, forged by the very hands that feared it. Weaponry or materials forged from this substance would render the wearer weak and powerless. It pulled and ripped at one's abilities, locking a piece of their very soul out of reach. This was where the Blue Blood's took advantage. Easy to control a rebellious Scorned one when they were powerless to defend themselves. The Black Market thrived upon the realization, slave markets exploding with the sudden flow of _goods_ , little more than glorifiedtoys for the privileged.

To be caught by a Hood meant certain death - whether at a physical or mental level.

And so they ran.

They ran.

They hid.

They _survived_.

Some lived their lives hiding their true talents, lurking in the shadows and hiding the truth beneath their skin. Other fought, joining the Rebellion with open arms. Those that did neither either perished or wasted away under the hand of another.

Anyone can become a Gifted- Whether from a family of high standing or low. Anyone can become a member of the Rebellion, Scorned or no.

  
Even stranger are the ones that choose the path of a **Hood**.


	2. Evening Knocks

**Mid Town  
** {Barracks}  
{03:24}

Sharp and piercing, the alarm rang like a rusty bell through the commons, instantly met by a slur of profanity, muffled as it was where it smothered against the all too tempting warmth of his pillow. Always the same and ever the pain. It blared through senses drowsy with sleep, forcefully dragging the raven from slumber and into a groggy wakefulness. A brief moment of respite and the sound burst through sensitive eardrums once more. This time sheets were thrown aside, a halfhearted whine lost into the chill of early morning air. "I'm awake damn it..." Not that there was anyone to hear him. His own room, his own personal sanctuary. Or as much of a sanctuary as there could be here. Privacy wasn't exactly a  _common_ practice here.

Even with the chill the absence of his blankets left, there was still an ever tempting residue of warmth, there in the crease of his pillow and the press of his chest against an albeit old, but still comfortable mattress. There was the pressing chance of another alarm, perhaps even some sort of repercussions should he continue to ignore them, yet the desire was still there, thoughts a slow drawl of grey haze in the back of his mind, weighed down as they were under the temptation of sleep. For a brief moment, he contemplated it, pros and cons a lazy juggle, his eyes still firmly shut to the outside world. A knock at the door and that last fleeting hope of rest was abandoned, groaning long before a familiar undertone made it's way through the crack beneath his door.

"Rise and shine Ace! Border patrol."

"Fucking great. So excited," Ace forced out in a dry murmur, the raven finally allowing the comfort of his bed to stay behind as he rose. Bare feet crossed the room lazily as the raven stooped to scoop up a discarded shirt among the pile of similar clothes. All dark and dreary - just how he liked them. At a certain point, it wasn't even an attempt to blend in, but more his own personal preferences stained in dark shades of grey. Another knock upon the door. This time Ace growled back, kicking the thing as he passed. "Alright, alright! I get it already."

He slid the dark tank top on, black pants soon to follow. A quick check in the mirror proved exactly what he feared in the shape of messy ebony waves, intent on defying gravity where his hair stuck up in odd directions, half plastered against his face where it pressed against his cheek. A soft sigh fell from his lips, only sparing half a second to drag his fingers through the unruly nest. No matter. He didn't have the time to fix it and if he was being honest, he didn't really care.

Besides, his **hood** would cover it soon enough.

It was the last thing he grabbed, personalized pistol resting comfortably at his hip and thin blades tucked safely into their respective pouches. Ace would never understand why they were referred to as the Hoods. It was more of cloak than a hood, heavy and laden with armor. A Blue Blood invention. It looked no different from normal cloth. Only the weight gave away the true nature of the thick garment. Still, it clung to him, billowing about his feet as the hood fell nearly over his eyes. The raven pulled up a cloth that hung loosely around his neck, dragged upwards to rest above the crook of his nose, black shrouding everything under his eyes. Everything was done with practiced ease, more muscle memory than anything else. A quick check over his weapons and the wooden barrier between himself and the rest of his troop was thrown aside, much to the relief of the haggard looking male beyond.

A short, stump of a man, the top of Marc's head barely met with Ace's shoulder but he made up for it in bulk, nearly dwarfish in figure and only lacking in the bush of beard to complete the look. He was chipper despite the normally permanent furrow between his brow, a toothy grin quick to erase the pure undulated  _exasperation_ that rest there only a moment before, evident in the thick, expressive curl of his eyebrows. 

"I swear... You just _love_ to take your time, don't you?"

Marc clapped Ace on the shoulder as he passed by and the sound of it alone was enough to leave the taller dizzy with contact and noise, still more asleep than awake. Ace stepped easily out of his reach, letting Marc's arm fall with a roll of his eyes and a shrug of his shoulders.

"That's what you get for waking me up so early. You know I hate dawn patrol."

"Part of the job description. Though you'd be used to that by now."

There was an uneasy silence in the hall, interrupted only by the echo of their boots against the hard floor as they both slipped into silence. The lower halls were sure to be buzzing with energy already, recruits and soldiers alike shoved likely far more ungracefully from their beds. Marc had to shuffle his feet to keep pace with Ace's larger strides but he didn't bother to slow down, only casting him a brief glance over the angle of his shoulder instead.

A twisted smile was his reward for the glance and Ace's brow furrowed at the sight, not for the first time displeased that high command thought it necessary for someone to retrieve him in the first place. He shook his head and glanced forward once more, ignoring the small noise of complain he earned in response. "Why did they send you this time if it's just for the usual patrol," he found himself questioning, if only to fill the silence.

Marc scoffed. "Who said it was just for patrol?"

Ace could practically hear the smile in his tone, a thin irritating thing that made his skin crawl. The implication had his shoulders hitch, the barest of reactions before he steeled himself into the picture of disinterest once more."I was under the impression that it was. There was no briefing or formal summoning." Which meant that this was either a new development or a waste of his time.

"No time, I'm afraid," The first then. _Great_. "We just got a new lead and I was told to retrieve you," Marc continued and Ace frowned, glad the expression was hidden beneath cloth. He remained silent, not that that seemed any deterrent for the older officer. He continued almost  _gleefully_ , the unexpected show of his energy suddenly given cause. 

"A raid then?" Ace stated more than questioned.

"Hope you loaded your gun." 

The rest of their walk was silent, a formal salute his only farewell before the raven was left alone in the walkway, left to watch Marc's back retreat around the corner. Even then he waited another minute longer before his back hit the wall behind him, a drawn out exhale weighted where it hung in the air before him. As much as he hated the dawn patrol, it would be much preferred to this. A lead meant that a hunt would soon beginning and there was nothing worse than starting off a day with  _that_. 

He reached up to push back the rim of his hood before knitting his fingers through dark locks once more, his head tilted back to rest against the wall. The hall empty for the moment, Ace was suddenly thankful for the silence it offered, the dark of night still a blanket outside. It would give him that little extra breath of time to compose himself before he made his way outside to converge with his squadron. 

_Second Division Command. Mission: Scout and Secure._

Just another day's work.

 **Low Town  
** {?}  
{04:57}

They were an intimidating force, though perhaps that was the whole point behind the hooded cloaks. They were dark, standing out like a stain of ink in the light of day while blending into the shadows as an old friend at night. Silence was their kin, boots designed to move quickly yet without noise, very much a pack of hunters in search of their prey.

As a group they moved quickly, nearly a dozen of them in total. Not the full force of his division, but that wouldn't be necessary by _any_ means. If he got snark for sending some of his men back to bed then he would deal with it later. At least _someone_ should get some proper rest. It certainly wasn't going to be him. besides, no point in dragging them all out here for a pointless bloodbath; it would only instill more fear and retaliation. Neither necessary. If the higher up's complained then they could just fucking _deal_ with it. Waking up this early was a crime against humanity as it was.

So early in the morning, the streets were black in the faded light, lacking in the welcome glow of streetlights that were common even in Mid Town. Here on the outer edge of Central, the roads were cracked, some buildings little more than great heaps of rubble of trash. The air was thick with dust and ash, a reminder of the fire that had spread through the outer rim not even two days prior. Some of the structures, even out this far, were smudged in black, the evidence of destruction everywhere. Once this section of the city had been prosperous, now little more than a husk, a lawless undercity teeming in criminal movements after the war. The Rebellion was more common here, emblems of dragons tagged against concrete, on the back of signs and fractured among the rubble, a deep stain of red and dark blue.

Static ripped the raven's attention from the streets to the small device attached to his ear, that same annoying undertone making itself known once more. _"Third right."_ His hand rose in understanding, feet stilling behind him at the gesture as Ace turned to face his division for the first time that day.

They were a mixed bunch, short to tall, both women and male. Marc was not the only one to have mocked him for his choices, but Ace had never really cared about other's opinions. They were chosen not for appearance but for mind, bright and sharp. If not for the tasks set before them, Ace may have been proud. As it was, he was only truly proud of a choice few within this group, and even then only because they knew more than the others.

Some information was not meant for other's ears.

A flick of his finger and the group took a step back. It was normal procedure by this point. It was the same every time Ace lead a mission - he was always the first to check the scene (much to the dismay of a few of his division). If Ace saw any disapproval from his group, he ignored it. He always did.

Fingers rose to check his hood and mask, confirming that both were in place. To reveal one's face in this type of environment was to sentence himself to death. Military or not, the Rebellion was stronger than most gave it credit for. He wouldn't put it past them to track any hood member down that they could and he couldn't afford to have his features known, not with the ties attached to them.

An eye for an eye, a _death_ for a death. 

He couldn't fault them for that.

Edging along the side of the building, he crouched down in the shadows to scout the street ahead.

It was a stretch of what had once likely been small businesses, perhaps even homes. From here, three were most visible, only one out of the bunch still decently put together.

A simple home structure, it was a moderately sized building, large for Low Town. Faded grey walls were cracks along the edges, the more visible gaps in the structure boarded up with planks, likely both to keep as much of winter outside as well as provide an additional level of security. Ace slowly shuffled closer, keeping to the edge of the wall where shadows were the most prominent to remain hidden. Equally dark hues scanned over the compound for any points of entry, narrowing a moment on one of the outermost windows at a brief, if catching, flicker of movement. Only when he paused to watch that spot for a period longer did he notice the figure crouched beneath the rim, likely the first of what had to be at least three guards for this size 'sanctuary.' From the reports, there were two main entrances, the front and the back. A one story home with no roof access, and while the windows, too, had been boarded shut to retain warmth and hide the occupants, that narrowed down even more potential escape routes.

It might as well be a glorified mouse trap.

Ace sighed though he didn't move, especially now that he was aware of the presence of at  _least_ one adversary. He hated shelters like this. While small and easy to keep tabs on, the lack of entrances demanded a forceful entry and it would be easy,  _too easy_ , to cut off any potential runners. Had they been smarter and chosen a larger base of operations, the likelihood of escape would have been much higher. As it was here, those odds were close to nonexistent. 

" _Second Division. What is your-_ " The static ripped through his ear and nimble fingers scrambled to switch off the device before the question could finish, eyes shooting towards the front steps of the home to check for any hint of threat. His breath lodged in his chest, he froze where he knelt, one hand still pressed against his ear. Ten seconds, then twenty and he slowly released his breath. Nothing.

Pity, he almost would have preferred some form of retaliation. It would give him an excuse to crack a few heads back at base.

Carefully shifting his position into one slightly more relaxed, his knee allowed to rest against the floor, the shot was fired before tension could even leave him fully and Ace swore under his breath. Plaster exploded just to the right of his head as he ducked around the corner, already flicking the com link one once more. Practically summoned by the gunfire, his division shot into motion, two forms shooting past the raven before he could stop them.

"One hostile to the left window, another likely around the back end," he spoke into the mic. "Keep your eyes out for another, possibly two around the back end. Hold fire unless absolutely necessary. Shoot to maim, not kill." The orders fell with practiced ease, familiar with the methods of his team after so long. Ace, himself, was already reaching for the pistol at his side. Custom built and lighter than most guns it's size, it slid comfortably into the palm of his hand, safety pulled back as he peaked around the corner once more. The first adversary was already down, the front secured when he darted across the cracked road to the sanctuary.

Gunfire and smoke greeted him, mixed with the panic of numerous voices within. Ace ignored the shrill scream of a child. Better not to focus on it. He was just happy that there was at least a mix of adults in this batch. Only once had he been unfortunate enough to bring battlefield to an orphanage and that was not an experience he planned on repeating.

The splintering of wood filled his ears as a heavy boot rose to meet with the door, again and again until it crashed open beneath the force. More cries, more shots fired. Ace moved with the flood of his squadron, the third through the door. A piercing pain hit above his collarbone and Ace cringed before moving on. The room was filled with low lighting, the flicker of a frantic candle one of the first things Ace took in before he moved forward in a rush, following the source of the foreign gunfire and hardly glancing at the stranger before the butt of his pistol rose to smash into a temple, body colliding with the floor as it raced towards unconsciousness. Another Hood pushed past him followed by more gunfire, more screams.

His fingers rose to touch at where pain had bloomed to spread across his collar, pulling back without a trace of blood. Armor came in handy sometimes though it only dulled the pain of a projectile impact. He would still need to get it checked when he returned to base.

Hands grappled at him from behind and Ace reacted on instinct, turning slightly before crushing both  his back and the assailant attached to it into the wall. There was a short cry of pain and the raven turned quickly, fist slamming into exposed stomach before he dared a glance into mirrored ash. A boy perhaps only a few years his younger. There was a still moment, only a fraction of a second where they stared back at each other, the other's lips parted in shock, eyes hard on fury. Ace didn't give him any time for words (or more likely profanity).

The butt of his pistol met with another victim.

Ace allowed the youth to slump into his arms, a soft, near silent sigh parting his lips before he pushed the boy to the floor. There was only muffled resistance now. He watched as another of his division stepped forward to grab the boy, slinging the youth over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Following him, Ace frowned as they entered the main room. Eleven total. No deaths this time around but one of the older men looked to be in no small amount of pain. Five unconscious, six awake and staring back at them with a mixture of hatred and fear. It was a look he had grown accustomed to. They all had.

His pistol slid back into it's holster, hand rising to poke at the pained spot on his neck once more. "How many?"

"Nine, sir." The response was nearly immediate, Ace turning to glance in the direction of the raised voice. Dark haired woman, maybe a year his younger. He nodded in response, gaze sliding towards the group before him once more.

"Right, well you know the drill. I'll call for a truck. Release the two and tie up the remaining, unconscious or not." He turned sharply, already heading out the door. He would not stay to watch them be cuffed. Nor would he stay to hear the usual complaint. Fourteen different divisions and Ace's was the only one to release the 'uninfected.' No matter how many warnings or threats he received from higher officers, the arrest of innocent souls was simply not something he would condone.

Ironic, considering Ace seemed to be arresting innocent souls every other day now. Though, most would not consider the _Scorned_ innocents.

 **Mid Town  
** {Holding}  
{02:04}

The holding cells were a dark, damp place, colder in winter now than they were even normally. Hundreds upon thousands of strangers could pass through these cells in a single year, a stay that could last as long as a month or two before transfer. It was the largest stronghold of goods, a home for the damned before they were to be bartered off to their own personal hell.

Cold and unforgiving as they were, a warmth slipped through the cracks on occasion, perhaps once every few cycles of the moon, even once a month on the rare. Fire flickered softly to light the darkest corners, ignorant to the sting of ice it would meet upon touch with the bars, the cracks in the stone, even the walls in some places. There were no footfalls, no evidence of shape or form when it drifted almost lazily through the air, burning through video cords one by one and the alarms a melted puddle of black metal left to drip upon the floor.

The figure was dark when fire melted into form before a set of stone cells, illuminated only by a single source when flame reached out in the form of a hand to circle loosely around the lock. If the Scorned noticed a single pair of eyes watching with bated breath, it made no sign, spoke no words and only waited outside the door for the group to rise. Later, after they were lead outside the walls, left to echo freedom into the night, the figure returned to the cells once more, a plain playing card in hand.

Come morning, the cells would lay empty, the locks melted and a single Ace of Spades lying center stage.


	3. I Fold

**Low Town  
** {Undisclosed}  
{09:47} 

"Called it."

"Oh, will you just _shut up_ about it? Stop shoving it in my face. I get it already, you called it. Big deal."

"It's a _huge_ deal!" Paper slammed onto the table, a smack echoing as it made contact with the wood. "Why is no one else paying any attention to this guy? According to Luffy, he dropped down from the ceiling, melted the locks and lead them out, all without running into a single guard. You don't find that at _all_ bewildering?" Fingers wove through blonde curls, exasperated sigh slipping into the air. "We've been trying to get into that place for years with only marginal success and this- this... Fuck, we don't know anything about this 'Spade' but he does it effortlessly. _Repeatedly._ "

Koala glanced up at him, evident amusement lingering in her gaze. "What's wrong, Sabo...? Jealous that Spade's getting more time in the spotlight? Watch out. Maybe Dragon will run off and adopt him too."

A finger pointed angrily in her direction, irritation like a second skin. "You know that's not the reason." He took in a deep breath, hands dropping to grip at the corners of the table. His knuckles were nearly white with tension. "We don't know anything about this person aside from what Luffy's told us. Hell, we didn't even know if this joker was a guy or girl until today. He hides his face like some sort of renegade."

A sigh reached his ears, Koala finally giving up on her book to raise her eyes to meet with blue. "And are we any different? Are _you_ any different?"

A growl in reply. "At least I don't hide my face like a coward."

"You wear a top hat that hides most of it-"

"Shut up."

She shrugged, small smile tugging at her lips. She picked up her book once more, thin finger flipping yet another off-white page. "Hey, you brought it up. If it's really that annoying, then go."

He blinked, staring back at her a moment. What? "Go where?"

She didn't even bother glancing up this time, half lost in the time-old-tale already. _Beauty and the Beast._ "Go find him. It's obvious that you want to, so do it. Just don't get caught." She paused, glancing up at Sabo who seemed to be staring at her as if she had just grown another head. _Lovely._ "You could always talk to Luffy. I know you two are close."

"...Talk to him about what?"

"Oh, for the love of- Spade, you idiot. You want to know who he is? Go find him then. Just stop pestering me about it when I'm reading." A motion of dismissal with her hand, Koala turned in her seat to face the other way.

Only a brief moment of silence passed before digits darted out to snatch the daily paper once more. In the next, Sabo turned and he was gone.

 

**Spade Strikes Again**

An Ace of Spades was found upon the early morning scene, local enforcement enclosure

break in releasing a number of dangerous individuals into the open streets of upper Mid

Town. Citizens advised to stay inside and remain calm while Hood forces work to remedy

the situation at hand.

Local renegade under the alias of 'Spade' is to be apprehended at all costs and brought

to justice. Any knowledge of such actions may be brought forth before any court of law.

Citizens are reminded that this is a dangerous and wanted criminal. Information regarding

either location or identity may be rewarded.

 

It went on of course, thorough investigative report travelling by way of mouth and paper before dawn had even fully set in. Though, the Resistance had known long before. Seven out of the nine had come straight here after escape, one of which a familiar face among the crowd.

His chatter was heard long before Sabo ever turned the corner to lean against the makeshift door frame. Dark, messy raven hair was cut rather short, sticking up in odd places from beneath a rather iconic straw hat. The familiar (if irritating) scar shown just beneath his left eye, dark ebony storms that were now fixated upon a older boy before him. It was a chaotic room, clothes and random junk strewn about both floor and wooden surfaces. To an unaccustomed eye, it seemed as if a tornado had passed through recently. It was just how Luffy was though. Anything different would be cause for worry.

Knuckles rapped lightly at the wood of the frame, dark eyes rising to meet with Sabo's as Luffy's voice cut off. There was a short window of silence, eyes widening at the sight of the blond before a slow smile spread across his face. It was far from his usual smile and Sabo frowned. "Mind if I borrow him for a bit, Zoro?"

A reply met the question in the form of a short grunt, Sabo glancing at the moss-haired swordsman as Zoro folded his arms behind his head in the picture of carelessness. Luffy was already up and moving, a faint bounce to his step that nearly pulled a smile from both Zoro and himself.

Had this kid really been in captivity only a few short hours before now? Well if anyone could bounce back so quickly, it would be he. The kid had this knack about him, always the first to volunteer for whatever mission was at hand. Most called it recklessness, but Sabo saw it as more an insistent crave for adventure and excitement. He had _certainly_ gotten what he wished for this time.

There was a silence of sorts between the two at first, Sabo lost in thought and Luffy content to walk besides him, pace matching that of who had become a sort of brother to him. The Resistance was the only family either had now, well the only family that mattered in Sabo's eyes at least.

"You okay?"

The question was nearly immediately followed by laughter, familiar grin spreading across the young features of the raven. "A few bruises but nothing serious. Chopper says I was lucky."

Hands gripped tightly at the blond's sides, white with tension and then slack only to repeat the gesture moments later. There was a tension in his jaw though Sabo was quick to push aside the nagging anger that threatened to derail already jumbled thoughts. He'd have time to get back at the Hood's later. Now was not the time to run off and cause unnecessary chaos.

"It wasn't luck though. Not really." The grin was still in place though faded slightly. A grim seriousness rested in dark pools, a look rarely seen upon the male's features. Luffy was not typically the serious type. Though a worthy adversary in battle, the Gifted young man was not known for his quick thinking. To see such an expression was enough to solidify Sabo's resolve.

Hand darting out to grip onto his shoulder, Sabo was quick to steer the two of them away from the main hallway, not speaking a word or pausing in his steps until the two stood before another door. Wooden barrier sliding open, Sabo shut the thing behind them both before leaning up against it. A sigh as his hand passed over his face before the blond glanced up once more. "I know you saw him Luffy. We all do. I need to know any details you have on him, _anything_ that can help us track him down-"

Luffy seemed far from caring at this point, flopping back onto a neatly made bed before he turned his head to look at the other. The grin was gone now, replaced instead by an almost thoughtful expression, as if the youth was filtering through information, deciding what to voice and what to-

"Tall, dark hair, similar build to yourself or Zoro. He didn't speak, so I don't know what he sounds like.." There was another pause, Sabo already rapidly filing away any information that could be used later. "He's a gifted."

 _That_ caught his attention. Sabo's head shot up, eyes widening slightly at the flow of new information before his brows knit in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "How do you know?"

And there was the laugh that Luffy was so famous for. The raven shook his head and Sabo frowned in response. "I don't know how no one noticed it before. Everyone else was asleep other than me. That's probably why I noticed." He sat up now, hands folding in his laps as he leaned forward eagerly upon Sabo's bed.

"He _melted_ the lock, Sabo! There wasn't any trick to it, not that I could see at least. If anything it seemed as if his hand burst into flame. I've never heard of an ability like that before! I mean, you know how I can stretch my limbs? Maybe he's the same except with fire!" There was a giddy excitement in his eyes, Luffy practically bouncing upon the bed as Sabo watched him silently.

If Luffy was right, which he normally was, then that explained far more than he could have hoped. It made sense that a Gifted would be able to break their way in like that. There was still something bothering him though. "Okay, that explains how he opened the cell, but what about after that?" His frown deepened. "You guys had those damn cuffs on, didn't you?"

Luffy waved a hand in dismissal, smile fading though it was still prominent across his facial features, illuminated in stormy eyes. "He had a key. And no- Before you say anything, I already think I know how he got it."

Sabo's lips snapped shut, irritation flashing through him, especially given the question he had just been about to voice.

"That's the part you're not going to like though."

Sabo threw his hands up, indignation and curiosity a plague in his veins. "I'm going to be honest here, Luffy- I don't like _any_ part of this situation. I don't trust him and i don't see why everyone else seems to believe that he's some sort of-"

"He's a Hood."

Shock like a blow to his gut, Sabo stared at him, mouth slack in surprise. How he wished he could blame some form of hearing imparity for those three words. That was never the case though. Instead, the words slid like ooze through the air, heavy and slow to sink in.

_He's a Hood._

_Spade is a Hood._

" **What?!"**

 **Mid Town  
** {Barracks}  
{13:22}

"You're an idiot."

"Some support would be nice, you know." Ace sighed, leaning back into his chair. A hand of cards set in his grip, nimble fingers selected one before tossing it towards the center of the table.

A hand reached out to select it, folding the card into an entirely different hand. "What is this, the second time so far this month? You're cutting it too close. How long until they start suspecting one of their own? You know what'll happen if anyone catches you."

"They're not going to catch me. I've been doing this a while now, Marco." Fingers tapped across the table, foot striking out to kick at an unfortunate shin. Thatch jolted upwards, scowl twisting into a smirk as he grabbed at the card Marco had tossed away.

"I think it's nice. What you're doing I mean. If you're not going to get them out of there then who will?" Thatch voiced, the crazy haired male leaning forward with a whistle before discarding a card face down. "That's gin boys."

Ace threw the remainder of his cards onto the wooden surface, groan slipping past his lips. "Why is it that you always seem to win? I call bullshit."

"A game for another day, Ace~" Thatch chuckled as he reached forward to grab a small pile of bills from the corner, tucking his winnings into an overstuffed pocket. Marco just sighed, folding his cards together neatly before setting them atop the stack of discarded cards.

"All I'm saying is that you should cut it back a bit. Strike every other month or something instead of each and every time a mission comes back _successful_." The blonde crossed his arms in front of him, leaning back leisurely though icy pools were irritatingly fierce. These two might be the only people Ace was willing to listen to. Not that he planned to do so in this situation. Each day that passed sent another group of Gifted on their way to either the slaughterhouse or slavery. How did either of them expect Ace to just lay back and let it happen?

"No promises." Words that slipped past his lips in a harsh mutter. Ace waved his hand at the table lazily as he stood, not bothering to pick up the mess that had been caused. "Say what you will, but you know this is something I have to do, Marco. Don't spend all your cash in one place Thatch. You still owe me that drink." He tossed the words over his shoulder before meandering towards the door that would once more carry him out the the main hall- A hall in which he would have to don the Hood persona once more. It was a tired old act by this point.

Marco merely sighed, Thatch chuckling beneath his breath. "Just at least _try_ to be safe. There's no guarantee that any of us will be safe if they catch you, _Spade._ "

Ace paused at the door, hand upon the handle. A smirk slowly spread across freckled cheeks as he glanced over his shoulder at the two. "...Now where would be the fun in that...?" Even after the door slid shut behind him, he could hear Thatch's laughter and the muffled curses of a certain blond.


	4. Sly Fox

**Low Town  
** {Undisclosed}  
{18:32}

There was a sick, twisting roll of emotions that swept through veins like a toxin, eating at his mind and feeding something dark at his center. Booted foot tapped repetitively against the floor, a dull background noise that passerby's refused to draw attention to. Probably the wise move considering the quiet fury that swam within pools of blue.

_ He was a Hood. _

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. A sympathetic Hood using the ties to military life in order to free prisoners while eyes were cast elsewhere. He'd be able to steal the keys (not that he needed them if Luffy was right). No, that made it even worse though. Not only was Spade possibly a Hood, but a Gifted one at that. Hiding his abilities and living among the very people assigned to end their life as they knew it.

Sabo didn't have abilities of his own. He didn't  _ know  _ exactly what it would be like to suffer under the weight of blue blood hierarchy. Okay, not entirely true-

This guy though, this  _ fox  _ in the lion's den, he would undoubtedly know what it must be like, to feel the sting of seastone and watch as comfortable,  _ familiar  _ pieces of someone's soul were snatched away. To willingly attack his own kind... To shoot them down or seal their fate in stone cuffs- How many times had he turned a blind eye to the suffering of people just like him?

Glass cracked in his hand and Sabo jumped, heated gaze dropping to rest upon the now splintered cup in his hand, a spider-webbing of cracks running across the glass surface. He lowered his hand, tense fingers releasing it before arms folded across his chest. Sabo leaned back in his chair with a sigh, tension fading but not fleeing from both shoulder and arms.

There was still the slim chance that Luffy was wrong but-

_ "He slammed me back against the wall. Pretty smart move actually..." Luffy laughed, carefree grin crossing his face before it dropped to something darker before falling entirely. "I didn't get a great look at him. Those hood's cover a lot, you know. Still..." He paused, gulping down a breath of air as he shifted upon the bed uncomfortably. "I saw his eyes. Dark grey and sharp." Luffy shrugged lightly and Sabo merely watched him, still trying and failing to hold back the full force of burning rage at the mere  _ **_prospect_ ** _ of Spade being what Luffy assumed him to be. _

_ "A blow to my stomach and then he hit me with something." Luffy rose a hand up, brushing  away a few stray bangs to reveal the still fading bruise upon his temple. The hand fell and ebony hair covered over the damage once more. "The next thing I know, I'm waking up in one of those damn cells." _

Ruthless. The Hood hadn't hesitated to knock Luffy out even if he was little older than a common child. Sabo ran a hand over his face, groan escaping into still air as he mulled over the information still fresh in his mind. A Hood and a Savior. A Gifted and a condemner.

Rage, a red hot coil that curled within his chest, embers of fire threatening to spark to life once more.

A burning fire.

_ "His hands lit up like a light, bright and hot. I was awake by the time he came. Maybe a little after midnight? Possibly later." His eyes were lit up again, just as the fire that he described so vividly. "I don't know how old he is, Sabo, but the control he had- Oh man... It was amazing." Luffy held out his hands before him even as Sabo scoffed. "Only one hand was lit up but it was like he  _ **_was_ ** _ the fire. I don't think he held onto the lock any more than a second before he pulled it away like the thing was butter in his hand!" _

A powerful gift if what he said was true. Logia perhaps. A fire logia or some kind of zoan. Those were the more dangerous of the gifted abilities. Harder to control and even harder to hide, yet this-this  **soldier** was successfully hiding something like that in the center of a web of hatred, a spiral of death that had him at the very  _ center  _ of it.

"How...?" How could he  _ possibly  _ hide something like that for so long without notice. To go without any use was one thing. It wasn't easy, but a Gifted could resist the ache to use their gifts and blend into normal society. Many did just that. It was a way of survival. This guy was not only routinely using his gifts, but right under the noses of the very people he was working for. Working for the Hoods.

That was the one fact he simply couldn't let go.

How many had he killed to keep his identity a secret? How many had he been unable to save due to risk? How  _ many  _ had he locked away himself  _ knowing  _ the fate that awaited them but unable to free them?

Wood screeched against wood as Sabo pushed his chair back with a start. Calloused hands were quick to dart out and take the thin sheet of paper he had been working on in hand. It crumbled with no resistance, a small compacted ball of written word. Facts and hints that he dared not look at any longer.

_ "They were the same eyes. His face was covered with a mask, but he had dark hair. Wavy I think. But his eyes. I would recognize those eyes anywhere." Luffy sucked in a breath of air eagerly, releasing it slowly even as the young male leaned back up against the wall behind the bed, fingers knitting through dark blue blankets aimlessly. _

_ "They were the same eyes. The last thing I saw before I was knocked out. It's the same guy. I'm sure of it." _

An ashen storm ringed in black.

The door slammed behind his tense form with a bang. The familiar weight of his top hat hung in one hand, other gripping onto a rather ratty blue cloak. It was dark, a deep shade of midnight blue that set eyes ablaze with a new fever. His fingers tightened around the garment. Throwing the cloth around his shoulders, he slid sun bathed arms into the sleeves before tying a cloth around the line of his neck. The next to follow was his hat, settling upon blonde curls as if it had always been there. Right where it belonged.

Unlike his renegade ' _ friend _ ', Sabo wore no mask. His face was visible all but the shadows cast over oceanic irises. Familiar steel rest between his shoulder blades in the shape of a long pipe. Interesting choice, most would say, but it certainly had it's perks. Reach and weight that inflicted hard, heavy blows. There was a startling force behind each swing, a mastery of an unknown skill. A skill that gave him an edge and a trait to remember him by. What had they started calling him now?

**Blue?**

Rather elementary and simplistic in his mind, but it would do he supposed. At least his name remained a tendril of fact shared with only the closest of friends and companions. Such was how it was for the Resistance. They may all share the same goal in mind, but that didn't mean that they trusted each individual to walk through flimsy doors. Trust was the foundation of only the highest of circles and they all knew it well.

He trusted a handful of those he worked with, twenty maybe, twice that at the very most. It was how he had survived so long after all. As long as he was merely 'Blue' to those around him, he would live to see another sunrise, and another sunset. Such was the view that greeted him now in encroaching light of dusk. Deep sapphire stretched across the sky, devouring the bright flickers of red and orange on the horizon. Night would be upon them soon. With night came darkness. With darkness came stealth.

He would need it if he was going to have any chance on his mission this evening.

Very few ventured towards Hood territory willingly. Perhaps  _ another  _ fox would slip beneath the barbed fence and into the wolf's den. Who better to hunt down a fox than another fox after all?


	5. Free the Hounds

**Mid Town  
** {Training Fields}  
{05:56}

There was a flurry of movement around him, the clang of metal ringing against metal and hollow shots of gunfire filling early morning air with the scent of adrenaline and sweat. He ducked beneath sweeping arc of sharpened steel, the slice of weaponry through the air a wisp of movement and whispered danger that the raven thrived on. Whether here among colleagues or out on the streets against adversaries, there was a certain thrill in this dangerous dance with death. Few could match him in speed when it came to close combat blades yet Aki was the closest to him in skill.

There was a short burst of laughter from the older male as Ace danced back a step, light on his feet and matching grin devouring freckled features at the momentary pause in attack. His palms were empty of weaponry of his own, content to rely on his own instincts and speed compared to Aki's quick thrusts and slices.

Still, it was only a matter of time before the elder had his fill of excitement.

"At least fight back, you damn fox! You're making me feel slow."

Ace merely chuckled back in reply, stopping to retrieve towel that hung from a low rack as he drew it to his face to wipe away traces of perspiration. "If you think it's easy to avoid you, then you're underestimating yourself, my friend. There's a reason I spar with you and not someone else in my division. You can actually match my speed and make me sweat." He grimaced at the state of his own shirt, irritated by the annoying cloth that now clung to him in the form of second skin.

There was a light shove to his shoulder, Ace nearly stumbling as dark gaze rose to meet with crimson once more, a teasing smirk plain to see across the pale haired male's face. He was lean, taller than the raven much to his frustration, though most of his friends within the Hoods seemed to be.

Damn giants.

Still, Aki was one closer to his own age, only five years his senior and a welcome addition to his own division along with his younger brother and sister. Three whom he could trust, though only Aki was privy to certain information. His right hand man, and a fond level of dependency resting on each other's shoulders. With white hair and scarlet hues, he certainly stood out in the training yards both had made their rounds to this early in the morning. It was becoming a routine of sorts, given this was normally the time Ace would take to aide in the training of new recruits. Still, it had been a while since he last had this opportunity to work out some stress.

Finally heeding Aki’s taunt, he smirked back at the male with hands shifting to the twin blades still sheathed at his back. He had always had a thing for scimitars, curving blades of steel and not the stone so favored among this crowd of soldiers. They slid from worn sheaths with a soft cry of metal, sliding against each other before the raven gave each an experimental twirl of his wrists. Sometimes his ambidextrous gift came in handy, a skill he rarely indulged and one seldom seen even in the spacious training grounds booted feet rest upon now. 

“Don’t go crying to Nele if you get hurt, asshole.” Smirk spread into familiar grin, a gleam of melded mischief and excitement. In the next moment, steel cut through the air with a whistle of wind and the promise of deadly dance. 

**Mid Town  
** {Barracks}  
{09:13}

There was always a commotion when a new batch of recruits arrived. Often the event was accompanied with a crowd, more of a bidding and betting process than anything else. Who would make it through the initial training, when would they quit? Who wanted who on their division. It was a game and an event many division leaders tossed away quite a bit of coin at. It was also an event Ace had little to no interest in, one to typically wait until during or after training to select his own additions to the second division. Unlike the first or third, he focussed more upon insight and quick wit, speed and agility instead of strength. As such, with the commotion outside and a desperate need for rest after his spar with Aki, he abandoned the game of chance and guessing to those of his fellow soldiers instead. 

Besides, it was better to see new recruits after they had worked up a sweat. Easier to tell then who required work and who would excel. Aki was always one to find interest in such a thing anyway, so he could easily pull a report from the albino later on. He had other things to deal with. 

With the newly released captives out in the wild, suspicions were once more heavy in the air of the commons, a wariness both spoken and silent. Perhaps he had been too risky on his last little excursion to the holding grounds. There was talk now of missing keys and suspicious knowledge of grounds. Not only that, but each camera had been knocked out along his path, leaving higher authorities to suspect an inside man among their ranks. It was either that or a mole, but whether one or the other or even something far more obscure, one thing had become painfully clear. Whoever had slipped behind the tightly knit wall of defenses was now known to be a Scorned, a Gifted one in the eyes of rebels, and that was a chance higher up’s could never take. 

Nele had whispered rumors of an investigation rooting through the lower troops. It was only a matter of time before questions raised higher into the ranks, Ace nervous despite his confidence. How long before attention shifted to the division leaders, to  _ him _ ? 

Every little move risked discovery and the freckled logia user had thought little of what might occur next. A dangerous fugitive and renegade in the eyes of public, a nuisance that must be silenced in the eyes of those of Blue Blood and he hadn’t the faintest clue as to how the Resistance might view him. Both a Gifted and a Hood and unwelcome among either part. It didn’t exactly leave him with many options… 

Would it be better to leave now before he was detected and trapped within these same walls he called home? He had no valid excuse for such an absence though. It would only confirm suspicions and have these same soldiers he had trained with for so many years out for his blood. 

A sigh fell from his lips, scimitars discarded atop bed as fingers rose to tug back the rim of armored jacket. He was tired, though with narcolepsy a constant drain of his energy, such exhaustion came as no real surprise. It was the mental wear that had him feeling sluggish and slow though. Stress was a ragged beast he rarely indulged, more apt to shove aside such meaningless thoughts for a later day. Still, he could only hold back the dam of nagging thoughts so long before something snapped and let free the floodgates. 

Even from here he could hear the clang of steel against steel, muffled gunfire echoing back from the shooting grounds. While most would choose a room farther from such things, Ace found a strange comfort in the hustle and bustle of the training life. It was why he had volunteered to help train new recruits, as well as why dawn often found him upon what had long become familiar sand and stone. The sounds and feel of confrontation grounded him in a way little else could. And such things were always more heightened with a fresh batch. New recruits to train and mold into the well known standard for the Hoods. 

Strong, fearless, ruthless in the face of adversary. The dogs of the Blue Bloods with an ever tightening leash about their throats. An army the common public praised and the underworld despised. 

He threw open his window to allow the muffled sound of training to fill his small room with welcome noise. Ashen gaze shifted over the lines of newcomers with little interest from his vantage point above. Only a moment of course. He still stuck firmly to his beliefs that these men and women were only worth noting later on. It was just how he viewed these things. Right now they were innocent, ambitious children in his eyes. It would not be long before the Hoods ripped that away and left a trained mutt in their place. 

Though, perhaps this group had something a little different planned for their future, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of lips at the sight of this batch's choice trainer. Marco should have some fun. 

A pinpricks of sensation passed down his spine, faint icy chill directing dark gaze further to the side with furrowed brows as he stared down into the mass of future troops. A normal bunch aside from a few of notable size that seemed to stand out. That's not what he was looking for though. No, it was that icy blue gaze that met with his own that banished smile in place of faint frown, cerulean to stare back into his own ash. Blond curls and piercing gaze. Ace merely huffed with a turn on his heel, abandoning the welcome of window to disappear once more into the familiarity of his own quarters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The trio, AKA: Aki, Nele and Luca are wonderful OCs that belong to a friend of mine who has allowed me to mix them in with this story of mine. For further information on these three, details can be found here: http://redeyetrio.tumblr.com/


	6. At Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week. He could survive a week of this if it meant discovering what he was after, who he was after. Just one week of whatever these assholes threw at him, a week of pathetic cardio hardly worthy of the title ‘training’ and then he'd fake an injury or get into a fight and get tossed out. It was a simple plan, all things considered, but still extremely high risk. Dragon would have sent someone lower in the hierarchy, a nameless face to sink through the shadows for a few days and gather the necessary intelligence. What the Leader didn't know wouldn't hurt him though. That was how the phrase went, right?
> 
> Oda, Koala’s going to kill me for this--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, so it's been a WHILE since I last updated this monster.

**Mid Town**

{Hood Headquarters}

{06:01}

There was a tension in the air that was almost tangible, a weight that pressed down on his shoulders and had each sense in overdrive in an attempt to take in as much as humanly possible. To _willingly_ walk into this place was like signing off on his own death certificate, strolling straight into the wolf’s den with every intention of hunting the hunter. Even so, it was a different feeling altogether compared to when he had been outside the fence looking in, even more so without his typical clothes.

His head felt bare, the familiar and welcome weight that usually rest upon it gone from his person and nowhere within reach. It would be better that way, safer with no real tie to the identity he bore so readily outside of this hell hole where soldiers were trained into obedient hounds. Here, with the typical blue of his coat stripped to faded brown and replaced with a simple tunic and faded trousers, Sabo might as well be a stranger pulled up from the streets, another hot headed soldier in the making to set the path towards the future right. The strain necessary to merely keep his expression _calm_ grated fierce fire to spark behind the deceptive boredom of his gaze and leave the tension to slide into his shoulders and linger close along the line of his spine.

Thankfully, _hatred_ was oh so easy to mask as simple nerves in a situation like this, with booted feet stained rust with the red dirt, his heels snapped together and stuck in neat little lines, just like the rest of them. Today he was little more than a recruit, eager and nervous for the lifetime of service ahead of him.

Bile burned at the back of his throat and it caused near physical pain to keep his lips from curling into a snarl.

A week. He could survive a week of this if it meant discovering what he was after, _who_ he was after. Just one week of whatever these assholes threw at him, a week of pathetic cardio hardly worthy of the title ‘training’ and then he'd fake an injury or get into a fight and get tossed out. It was a simple plan, all things considered, but still extremely high risk. Dragon would have sent someone lower in the hierarchy, a nameless face to sink through the shadows for a few days and gather the necessary intelligence. What the Leader didn't know wouldn't hurt him though. That _was_ how the phrase went, right?

_Oda, Koala’s going to_ **_kill_ ** _me for this--_

“At _attention_ you useless slugs,” came a low bellow, quick to cut Sabo from his own thoughts.

There was a scramble as the men and women surrounding him straightened, heads whipping forward towards the source of the voice. Sabo almost laughed at the practically palpable nerves in the air; perhaps he _would_ have if not for his own focus, or the chill of pallor that drained his own face of color.

Boots clacked against the cobblestone just outside of the dirt training grounds, the figure already tall and imposing made even more so with the hooded garb heavy upon the soldier’s shoulders and the glimmer of a single roman numeral in gold upon his breast, made _painfully_ apparent when the man came to an abrupt stop directly before Sabo’s column.

While the Resistance was not familiar with _all_ of the prominent figureheads within the Hoods, Sabo would be a _fool_ not to recognize the commander of the first division, known ‘fondly’ as The Phoenix both within and _outside_ of the establishment. He was a fearsome adversary and not _only_ due to his seeming inability to fall in battle.

The breeze shifting the golden tufts of hair atop his head, Marco’s gaze cut harsher than any blade through the lines of troops before him and Sabo only swallowed, his hands clenching with tension at his sides and heart a stutter racing along with the adrenaline hot through his veins.

It was not difficult to feign anxiousness when it was _real_.

Day one -- closer to _hour_ one actually if he wasn’t counting the physical and mental exam he had been required to pass beforehand -- and he was already more than just within the den of his enemy, but shaking akin to an injured prey at the maw of one of the greatest beasts themselves. His finger twitched, itchy for action and not even Sabo could fully untangle the mess of nerves within himself, unsure as to whether he ached to fight or flee.

There was a moment ( as fleeting as it may be ) where the rebel felt the commander’s gaze rest upon him, felt the faintest prickle of fearful awareness like tiny daggers pressed against his skin, and then Marco moved and the moment was over, the elder blond moving with sharp, determined strides down the ranks of future soldiers to stop before another unlucky recruit. The sigh that slipped silent yet heavy from his own lips tasted bitterly of relief upon his tongue.

“This is not your average boot camp, nor some means to an end if any of you think to look for honor and prestige upon your family,” Marco spoke in an even tone, the words carried in the silent still of the courtyard as if supported upon the wind itself. “You will bleed and suffer. You will rise early and train late into the night until your bones weep and your feet are worn down to nothing. _If_ you pass my test -- as many of you will **not** \-- you will be passed on to another and another and perhaps even another after them until you are deemed some level of competence above your current state of worthlessness. If this is _not_ what you were expecting, then I suggest you leave now before one of you ends up hurt, or worse.”

He paused here, cold cerulean eyes once more cutting through the crowd, waiting to see if any would take heed of his ‘advice.’ Instead, the officer was met with only silence and shuffling feet, the still air only interrupted once by a dry, mostly stifled cough. Sabo remained quiet, lips pressed into a thin line and making a point to avoid eye contact.

Seeming to deem the silence as an appropriate response, Marco continued a moment later, his pacing leading the giant of a man to stop in his original position up before them all.

“Very well then. Your training begins now with fifty laps around the yard. Begin.”

Sabo didn’t wait before taking off into a run; nor did anyone else around him.

**Mid Town**

{Training Grounds}

{09:22}

Sabo was familiar with the strain of training. He **had** to be after so many years with Dragon as his mentor, after countless mornings started before dawn and bruises upon bruises painted black and yellow against his skin until the pain slid into numbness and the numbness into indifference. Strength was something he had earned through trial and error, hardship and agony. Somehow, after all of that, he had expected the training as a Hood to be… well, _lacking_.

Unsurprisingly, ‘The Phoenix’ had a way of surprising him, as well as every other unfortunate individual worked like slaves in his presence.

After only three hours the blond would typically still be in great shape, albeit perhaps winded and thirsty. Though, his normal training didn’t often require the rebel to fight in waist high mud or with his arms _literally_ tied behind his back. Hard to engage in hand to hand with neither at his disposal. By the time Marco finally allowed them a brief break, a small bite to eat and a single glass of water, the blond of his hair felt more muddy brown than golden and irritation swam in a vengeance beneath the filth and sweat of his skin.

He was aware ( distantly ) of the eyes on them as a whole, the unfamiliar figures leaning onto window frames and the inside of doorways both garbed and casual, their presence shrugged off after the first hour of interest. They had moved on to something of familiar territory now after all, directed through a rigorous, if uncomplicated, set of movements intended to test their balance and flexibility.

It allowed Sabo a moment of peace, only half paying attention to each shift of muscle in order to ensure that he didn’t stand out too much among his peers. In that time, his gaze drifted in subtle casualness across the newfound crowd, no longer quite as large as the initial flood but a constant flow of people, some old, most new.

Luffy’s words ran laps of their own through his thoughts, a mantra of descriptive terms honed into weapons specified for his hunt.

Hair color was first, and the easiest tool to guide him, quick to pick out any in particular with dark hair, anything ranging from dark brunette to brown, just in case. He flowed easily into the next stretch, one leg hovering barely an inch above the floor and held there. Sabo ensured that he wobbled at least twice though never enough to stumble. There were many with dark hair present, and too many caught only out of the corner of his eye before they disappeared once more. Luffy _might_ have mentioned something about wavy hair but given how quickly each event took place, that information was more likely to derail him than anything else. Besides, he wasn’t looking for the texture of some guy’s _hair_ , he was looking for one thing in particular--

And none of these guys were close enough to pick out eye colors.

The physique would be next, a more abstract description to go off of given that these men were all in the **military** of all things, but still worth keeping note of. Besides, all he had to go off of was _‘tall, dark hair’_ and some type of figure close to his own. It at least made it easy to cross off certain individuals if they were too tall or short, too wide in the waist or thin in the shoulders. Luffy would have mentioned anything obvious so the too harsh jaw line and the obvious limp are also tossed into the reject pile.

_Tall, dark, grey, tall dark, grey, tall, dark--_

It’s not until a shadow cuts off his view that Sabo realizes he’s done something wrong, observational attention dragging his focus away from his other task at hand. He’s frozen in the last position with the first division’s commander standing imposing before him, already thin lips drawn thinner and a furrow resting between the icy chill of the eyes now boring deep into Sabo’s skull.

Even before Marco speaks, Sabo is already moving, a leash slapped harsh around his desire for blood and instead forcing his limbs into the position of attention, a bead of sweat trailing a path through dirty skin to disappear beneath the collar of his tunic.

“Sir,” falls like a stone from his lips and the burn of bile has returned once more, heated against the back of his throat where he clamps his lips down on the growl that threatens to follow after. There’s a stale moment between them both, blue staring back into blue. Sabo is the first to break eye contact, only catching the thoughtful nod from Marco out of his peripheral. For a second that stretches on into infamy, he fears that he’s been caught, that his features are recognizable even without his hat and pipe, even underneath grime and nerves and the returned twitch of his fingertips. A second more and there’s a soft grunt and the shadow falls away, Marco resuming his march down. This time there is no bitter taste to the relief when it sweeps through the rebel, his gaze free to rise.

Perhaps it was merely luck or some sense of necessity that had his attention shift just barely to the left when he fell into the routine of stretches once more; regardless, a subtle movement and a smudge of dark hair and Sabo’s gaze narrowed somewhat higher than where he was focusing earlier. The windows were smaller and more vacated ( hence his dismissal early on ) but where only a moment before a window had been empty, now there was someone new.

Even from this distance he took note of the dark hair, ending at just above shoulder length. Hard to tell from here but it _almost_ appeared wavy, or at least slightly curled. **Young** was his first thought, the features of the stranger still softened outside of the edge that stress and further age would likely give him. Half leaning outside the window as he was, height was difficult to discern but his physique seemed athletic, strong even in the cut of his shoulders.

As if sensing the eyes upon him, the stranger turned and Sabo froze for the second time, their eyes meeting in impossibility from across the length of the field. He was too far to make out any distinct features, the shade of his eyes seemingly light _enough_ but shielded in the glare of the sun.

The raven turned, his vision gone and Sabo caught himself just in time to move on to the next movement, his own gaze dropping once more to the red of the dirt and the brown of the muddied boots before him.

If a vicious swell of triumph traced the faint line of a smirk into his pale features and his sharp gaze narrowed further in speculation then no one besides him took notice.

Day one, three hours in and he had his first suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's longer than normal ( sobs ). Next chapter is already ( mostly?? ) plotted out so theoretically I'll have another update out within the next two weeks or so but who knows man. Trying to get back into the swing of things with this fandom though so we'll see. Comments are always appreciated yo -- gives me things to reply to and motivation to continue!
> 
> Also, beta maybe? ( aka: h e lp )


	7. Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keep an eye on one of the younger ones though. You'll know which one when you see him.”
> 
> Ace quirked a brow in response, head tilted to the side to follow Marco’s path. “Why?”
> 
> “You'll figure it out I'm sure,” he shrugged. “Or not. He looks like your type so it’s not like you won’t be able to find out regardless.” With a smirk, he left, Ace’s indignant squawk going unanswered.
> 
> “I do not have a type!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been more productive in one night than I have been in a year. And this will probably never happen again, but enjoy anyway.

It was silent. Where normally fingers would have found solace in the chill of his gun, they jerked back now, a hiss a harsh echo of surprise that tore from the base of his throat, sore as if from disuse. Ice crystals clung in veins of frost to the stone grip, thicker in the grooves. With a sense of panic that crept along the his spine, he jerked the familiar weapon from his belt, dull nails set upon the ice in a frantic need to remove it. 

“Shit--,” he bit out, voice an odd echo half swallowed by the fog around him. 

Cold,  _ Oda _ why was it so damn  _ cold?  _ The ice continued to spread, crawling to fracture over the glass of his sight and curling in pale blue to spread sheets of frigid rivers over the barrel. 

The more he chipped away at it, the faster it spread, pain crystallizing in the form of frozen water at his fingertips to trace fire along his chuckles, little serpents with beady sapphire eyes. A gasp tore out, another echo too loud for the silence around him, his gun dropped with his shift in attention. The serpents -- for they  _ were _ snakes after all -- split at the head, multiplying in their number like cracks upon a mirror, racing along the line of his wrist and forearm in a whisper of cold. 

“Shit, shit,  _ fuck! _ ” 

Desperation now an equal chill, he stepped back a pace, his other hand emerging from the folds of dark cloth to claw at the skin of his right arm, chipping away the ice and ignoring the bite of fangs, the frozen fear burrowing beneath his freckles to sink into his veins. He couldn't reach them there, a scream the only thing hot that scorched through him as they slid deeper. The world around him blurred, the fog stretching upwards and sharp points of jagged stone revealed beneath their blanket. They reached out towards him and he crumpled, his arm unresponsive and glowing a pale blue, cradled against his chest and his head bowed over his knees. 

The moment the serpents reached his heart he felt it, cold, everlasting frozen tundra laced through his nerves and leaving air to pass in a frozen cloud from blue tinged lips. It stuttered in his chest, fractured in his lungs where it rattled within the cage of his frosted ribs. He wasn't sure when he had stopped screaming, a whisper all that rest at the tip of his tongue now, his thoughts slowed to a trudge within the walls of his mind. Above him the stone clashed, merging into the black of his new sky and the floor of his hell. 

Dark and frozen, when he stopped breathing, what remained of his world solidified in ice. 

**Mid Town**

{ Barracks }

{ 04:32 }

With a gasp, Ace sprang upwards, his single flimsy blanket half tangled between his legs. Fingers scrambled, nails turned claws desperately tearing into his right hand until he found purchase on what he was looking for, a thin unappealing band of stone wrapped around his pointer finger. He hissed when his fingertips brushed it, ripping the offending ring off before it was throw across his room to ricochet off the wall and clatter against his floor, likely lost somewhere beneath his bed or desk, the only notable furniture within the room. 

Within seconds of its disappearance warmth returned, slowly at first where embers rekindled at his center, fanned higher with each inhale of breath until it spread through his veins, chasing what was left of the chill out of his system until only his fire remained, burning strong right alongside his heart. 

Even if the phantom cold was fading away, the memory of it still remained, Ace’s hand shaking where he pressed it close against his chest, fingers drawn tight into a fist against his heart. 

“You haven't been practicing,” a voice drawled from his front. 

His head jerked up at the voice though it came as little surprise given his awakening, eyes narrowing on the figure that lounged at his desk, booted feet propped up on the edge of his bed and a book hiding the cerulean gaze from view. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ Marco,” he bit out. “I thought I was  **dying** .” His voice sounded rougher than normal and he wondered ( briefly ) if his screams had escaped the dream with him. “What percentage even  _ was _ that?”

“Fifty--”

“ _ Bullshit _ .”

The blond sighed then, finally shifting the book aside so that ash was allowed to glare back into ice. “Seventy-eight percent. You still reacted too slowly regardless, yoi.”

Ace’s only response was a low rumbling growl, the noise reverberating in the back of his throat and his hand still clutched tight against himself. “You have  **no** right to just barge in here without warning, Marco. My training is my own and I would have  _ hoped _ \--”

“They've moved up the search to higher ranks, Ace,” Marco spoke, exasperation low in the lilt of his voice. 

This silence had weight when it settled on his shoulders, words forgotten on his own tongue. “I…,” Ace cleared his throat, wincing at the crack of his own voice and wetting suddenly dry lips. This was not the type of news he wanted to wake up to. 

“When?”

Marco moved with a sigh, boots drawn back to rest against the floor and leaning forwards at the edge of the flimsy chair. “Last night. Word is that the newer recruits are still under surveillance but the attention isn't on them. They're --  _ Sakazuki  _ \-- is aware that the releases could only have been executed by someone more trained, yoi. There’s still time but not much and you know as well as I do that your largest weakness is concentrated in that ring you just  _ threw _ aside. Thatch and I are trained -- you're not.”

Ace swallowed but said nothing.

“If you're immunity isn't high enough anyone that’s been taught the signs will know in an instant what you are if and  _ when  _ you come in contact with seastone. For Oda’s sake Ace, it's supposed to be in our  _ guns _ . I still don't understand why you don't just wear gloves like the rest of us.” 

“I work better without them,” seemed a weak response, but it was all he had to offer. With the narrowing of Marco’s gaze and the increased furrow between his brows, it was evidence enough that the other commander agreed. He sighed, reaching up to ruffle the dark threads that had tangled with sweat at the back of his neck, shoulders collapsing and spine bent inwards. “I know, I'm sorry. I promise I'll practice more, at least enough where I can get away with contact for a minute or two.”

Marco only huffed, a silent but agitated exhale and the raven flinched at the voiceless disapproval. Wordlessly he stood, only pausing long enough to pull out a small rectangular box from one of the inner pockets of his hood. “Get dressed, yoi. I'm officially passing the new recruits onto you starting today. And don't--” Ace snapped his mouth shut, complaint cut off. “-- Don’t start with me. It's already been a week and there  _ are _ a handful with genuine promise. You know I'm only there to pick out the weak links.” He snapped his book shut, brisk strides quick to take him to the door where he paused. “Keep an eye on one of the younger ones though. You'll know which one when you see him.”

Ace quirked a brow in response, head tilted to the side to follow Marco’s path. “Why?”

“You'll figure it out I'm sure,” he shrugged. “Or not. He looks like your type so it’s not like you won’t be able to find out regardless. Make sure you find that ring of mine by the way.” With a smirk, he left, Ace’s indignant  _ squawk _ going unanswered. 

“I do not have a  _ type _ ,” he hissed at the closed door, expression scrunched up into one of disdain. It was still unbelievably early, too long before sunrise for thoughts on his imminent demise or the even earlier hours his new ‘promotion’ would ensure in the following days to come. One of the lower divisions normally took over after one of the top six, Ace suddenly rather sure that this was a punishment all on its own. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he  _ hated _ dealing with recruits -- just a sad collection of fools throwing their lives away for a ‘greater’ cause.

He groaned loudly, the noise scratching at the back of his throat when he flopped back onto the softness of his worn, black sheets, still faintly warm from his sleep. If not for his training and his daily pills to suppress the more annoying aspects of his narcolepsy, he might have considered simply going back to sleep. With tension still an almost living thing that crawled through his arm and left his finger twitching where it had touched the ring, that wasn't likely regardless. 

Nightmares were slow to fade, trauma even more so. 

There was a reason he went out of his way to avoid the stone, even in a place like this where kairoski played a critical role in everyday life. It was in their guns, in the lining of their knives, even coating the heel of his boots -- or, at least, it was  _ supposed _ to. Some benefits came with connections within these walls, a few minor strings pulled to guarantee that Ace’s tools were the same but ever so  _ slightly  _ different. His gun was still lined with a stone alloy, indistinguishable from the others in weight and appearance but lacking in the  **bite** of cold it would have otherwise carried. His knives were the same in that regard, all save for one small curved blade he carried at his waist, older than his role as a Hood and one of the few belongings he carried with him from his childhood, an object passed from ‘father’ to son. Other than that, the only weapons he carried with that accursed stone were his scimitars, and even those were only used during times of desperate need, personally against how easily they sliced through the lines of the Gifted ( the ‘Scorned,’ his training helpfully corrected him ).

The thought alone was enough to make his stomach churn with cruel reminder, rolling to his side to curl into himself and chase after that fading heat. 

He allowed himself to remain there for only a few minutes longer, each second tracked like a tally on the walls of his mind, scratched there among the multitude. Then he pushed himself upright once more, bare feet chilled by the wood floor and his dark pants loose where they hung from his hips. Hardy a full thought and familiar heat unfurled at his call, trailing through his limbs to warm the flat of his feet. It was a comfort after their brief, if startling loss, the eternal fire in his chest something Ace had carried since birth. Not willing to lose it again so soon, he grabbed a discarded shirt from the day before, retrieved from where it lay at the base of his bed. With that he folded the cloth around his fingers loosely, plucking the now harmless ring from where it had rolled behind a leg of his desk. He hissed softly at even that proximity, promptly dropping it onto the faded blue of his desk besides the box and slouching into the chair besides it. 

He sat there, staring at the small rectangle of doom for longer than likely Marco would have approved of before finally reaching out to flick it open and eye the dreaded contents much as a merchant might stare down a particularity venomous viper along his path. 

The lead of the box warmed at his touch, a gentle greeting compared to what rest within. A set of fifteen rings glared back at him, sixteen altogether with the one from before. Varying in thickness and style, a few of the smaller ones had elegant designs etched into the stonework while the larger represented something similar to plain cuffs. Without touching them, they appeared harmless and Ace glowered into their small home of deceit. This was not the first time he had seen most of these, but never all at once, vague hauntings of former ‘training’ locked away into the basement of his memories.

Their greatest weakness, yet a clever advantage when used right.

Before anything else recruits were tested unknowingly, the materials for even the most base physical exams a coverup for a larger assessment altogether. It was in the handle of syringes, coated along railings and even laced through the cracks of the tile floor each hopeful was required to stand upon, barefoot. For a period up to nearly an hour they were all exposed, most completely unaware of the larger threat at hand, all the while watched for any shift of discomfort, for even the smallest sign that there was a sheep among the wolves.

For  _ years _ Ace had trained, hours and hours of practice and patience and that everlasting  **cold** that so brutally smothered a piece of his very being, all for that one god-awful moment. 

Not all were as lucky as he, blessed with a mentor and teacher, even more, the  _ tools _ necessary to build up even the most fragile of tolerance levels. 

If you were caught -- as he had witnessed more than just on one occasion -- the punishment was swift, the execution even more so. The screening center eternally smelled of bleach; blood stains never lasted long but the evidence tended to linger.

That was seven years ago. With the pass of time and with a growing number of connections both within and outside of the walls, it wasn't exactly  _ surprising _ to find that his training had faltered, very little contact made with the stone now compared to those days where he faced it around every corner. 

“Seventy-eight,” he grumbled, his glare cast towards the plain ring once more, narrowing on the thin band. Even now that he knew what to expect, he still avoided touching it directly while returning the ring to the empty space within the box. It would be a while yet before he was back up to that level, the effect closer to  _ crippling _ than ‘helpful’ right now. 

Instead, after a moment of consideration and mild hesitation, he plucked out one of the smaller rings out of the box, a grimace made when that same ( if slightly milder ) cold leached through his skin, trailing a shudder along the line of his spine. It was weak, barely forty percent in strength, but still enough to leave Ace cold, that eternal blaze normally thrumming in his veins now only a smoking ember, empty of heat. Even expecting the change, the partial denial of his very being, it was still unsettling, but he grit his teeth, stubborn pride lined in furrowed brows and thin lips when Ace moved to slide the ring onto his finger. 

It sapped his energy and left him off balance, slightly pale and  _ weak _ , but if Marco insisted on his training then  **fine** **_._ ** It’s not like he would need his full strength against recruits anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Fair warning that I take time on these chapters considering the level of plotting I have put ( and am currently putting ) into this fic. Ideally I will get chapters out at a somewhat regular basis but it has been proven that I'm AWFUL at managing my use of time.


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